Remains

Doomsday / Murray Gold

❝I had never felt my heart thunder in my chest like it did in that moment.

My whole body trembled, flinching every time I heard a shout or a gunshot. I knew that the assailant would be gathering all the patrons in one place, keeping them at bay while he did what he pleased. 

Why was this happening to us?  I thought to myself, tears of anxiety threatening to spill. 

The worst things always happen on good days. 

It's never a bad day until something bad happens. Good days just make the bad days feel worse.

As much as I wanted to give in to the pain, I had to remind myself every second that in every experience, there will always be hope.

In my time in the store, I clung onto hope like an upturned life raft in an ocean of fear. I flinched at every sound, dreading the potential of footsteps approaching. 

I turned my music right down, the scratchy sound gently playing in my ears, doing barely anything to relieve my stress. 

The song had no real words to focus on, only soft, continuous vocalisation. I had no motivation to change the song, and all I could really do was curl up into the wine shelves and feel nothing but raw fear. 

What about if it was just a drill?

Or a sick joke?

As much as I wanted to believe that it was some sort of twisted prank, deep down I knew it was real. 

I don't know how long I was sitting there, alone. Maybe it was only two minutes, but the seconds dragged along like hours. I ignored the pain in my palms from digging my nails into the skin, trying to make myself as small as possible. 

It was only as the song began to get into the cello solo when I heard it.

The sound I was dreading the most in that very moment.

Footsteps.

They were agonisingly slow, the soles tapping against the cold linoleum. If it was the gunman, I had no time to run. 

I could see his shadow stretched across the white tile, but his figure was not yet revealed from behind the shelf. My toes dug into the floor, bracing myself for the worst. 

A young male ducked around the shelf, his brown hair messed up, and a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. His pupils dilated slightly when he caught sight of me, and worry evident on his face.  

"Are you okay?" He whispered, creeping over to me. 

His face was very boyish, he couldn't have been any older than me at the time. He came and sat next to me, resting his forearms on his knees. 

I shrugged and averted my eyes, not wanting to look back over at him. 

"You've found a good spot here, but it's not going to last forever." He said remorsefully.

"I know," I whispered back, staring at the ground. "Do you know what's going on out there?" 

He sighed. "He's got them in the cereal aisle, visible outside from the windows. I think he's shut down the automatic doors so nobody can get in or out without breaking the glass."

"Are police here yet?" I whimpered, feeling my hope steadily draining. 

"No. He's taking everyone's-" He began to say, but stopped when he caught sight of the cracked phone clutched in my sweaty palm, "-phones." 

I followed his gaze down to the device in my hand. 

"Does it still work?" He mumbled. 

I nodded, my thoughts drifting back to the music that was still playing in the background. 

"You need to call the police. Please." He begged. 

I said nothing, but in trembling fingers, I grasped my phone and turned it on. I shakily pressed the emergency call button. 

As the phone dialled, I ground my teeth together anxiously. 

"911, what's your emergency?" 

My breath hitched as the operator's voice spoke through my earphone. I lifted the microphone on the cord to my lips, and whispered the bare necessities to get the police.

 "Someone shooting people... supermarket... send help-" 

I abruptly ceased speaking when I heard angry footsteps approaching. The boy next to me swore under his breath. "Hang up," he mouthed. The operator was frantically attempting to get me to respond, but I was beyond that. His shadow was cast over us, his figure towering above our hunched figures. 

"Hand it over, girl." He ordered, his voice gruff. He tilted his gun at me, his other hand outstretched. I passed it to him, shying away as soon as the device and headphones left my possession. 

I flinched as he threw it to the tiles at full force, the phone shattering into unsalvageable pieces. 

"Who did you call?" He snarled. I didn't bother to study the twisted black mask on his face, I averted my eyes and said nothing.

"Fine. Don't talk. You'll die instead." He snapped, before aiming his weapon. 

I braced myself for the impact, a single tear slipping down my face. As the gunshot rang out, I was ready for the pain and death that followed.

But it never came.

I opened my eyes to see blood and a body.

At first, it was just a blur of red in my weary eyes. The blur quickly formed into the shape of the boy who found me.

He saved my life that day.

And I didn't even know his name.❞